My Husband Died Keeping A Secret, Until I Went To The Farm He Always Forbade Me To Visit
«Let me understand correctly,» I said finally, my voice steady despite my internal turmoil. «You tried to steal this property from me. Attempted to turn my daughter against me with lies and half-truths. And now you’re here asking if she’ll undergo surgery to save your life?»
Robert at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. «I understand how this appears, but we’re still family, Catherine. Blood connects us, whether we choose it or not.»
«Blood,» I repeated thoughtfully, remembering Joshua’s videos, his painful history with these men, his determination to protect Jenna and me from their toxic influence. «You’re right about one thing, Robert. Blood does connect us, but not in the way you think.»
I withdrew the sealed letter from my pocket, noting the flash of recognition in Robert’s eyes. «Joshua left this for you,» I said, holding it just out of his reach. «With instructions to deliver it only if absolutely necessary. I believe this qualifies.»
Robert stared at the sealed envelope in my hand, recognition and apprehension flickering across his drawn features. «Joshua wrote to me?»
«Apparently he anticipated that even a legal settlement wouldn’t keep you away permanently.» I held the letter, making no move to hand it over yet. «He prepared for every contingency, including this one.»
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Dr. Harmon shifted awkwardly, clearly sensing he’d been brought into something more complex than a straightforward medical consultation. The Mitchell brothers exchanged glances, some unspoken communication passing between them.
«Before I give you this,» I continued, «I want absolute clarity about what you’re asking. You want my daughter—the same young woman you manipulated and lied to six months ago—to undergo medical testing and potentially major surgery to save your life?»
«It sounds callous when you phrase it that way,» Alan interjected. «But yes, essentially. Robert’s condition is grave, and family members provide the best chance for compatible donation.»
«Why not David or Alan?» I asked, looking at the other brothers. «Siblings are typically even better matches than nieces.»
Dr. Harmon cleared his throat. «We’ve tested both Mr. Mitchell’s brothers. Neither is compatible due to some unusual genetic factors.»
«And there are no other siblings?» I pressed, watching their reactions carefully. «No other family members who might be suitable donors?»
Another significant glance between the brothers. David looked away, suddenly fascinated by the view through the window.
«No,» Robert replied firmly. «No other siblings.»
I nodded slowly, then handed him Joshua’s letter. «I think you should read this before we continue this conversation.»
With slightly trembling hands, Robert broke the seal and unfolded the pages inside. His eyes moved across the first few lines, then widened in shock. Color drained from his face as he continued reading, the pages shaking visibly in his grasp.
Alan leaned forward. «Robert? What is it?»
But Robert didn’t respond, completely absorbed in Joshua’s words. When he finally looked up, his expression had transformed—the confident businessman replaced by a man confronting ghosts he’d thought long buried.
«How long have you known?» he asked me hoarsely.
«I only know that Joshua left this for you, with instructions that it contained information you might need someday.» I met his gaze steadily. «What exactly did my husband write?»
Robert handed the letter to Alan, who began reading with David looking over his shoulder. Their expressions shifted in near unison from curiosity to disbelief to something approaching horror.
«This can’t be true,» Alan said finally, looking at Robert. «Father would have told us.»
«Would he?» Robert laughed bitterly. «The same father who pitted us against each other our entire lives? Who played favorites depending on his mood? Who took pleasure in holding secrets over our heads?»
I watched this exchange with growing curiosity. Whatever Joshua had revealed in that letter had clearly shaken the brothers to their core.
«Perhaps,» I suggested quietly, «someone should tell me what my husband wrote.»
Robert seemed to remember my presence, his gaze refocusing on me with new awareness. «Joshua wasn’t our half-brother. He was our full brother.»
This made no sense. «I don’t understand. Joshua told me your father remarried after your mother died giving birth to him. That’s why there was such an age gap between you.»
«That was the story we all believed,» Robert confirmed. «But according to this letter, Joshua discovered the truth while researching his heart condition. Our mother didn’t die in childbirth. She left our father when Joshua was an infant, unable to tolerate his abusive behavior any longer. Father created the story about her death to avoid the scandal of abandonment and to punish her by erasing her completely.»
«But that’s not all,» Alan continued, his legal precision reasserting itself even through his shock. «Joshua discovered that our father had another family—a relationship that began before our mother left and continued for decades after. A woman in Saskatoon with whom he had two more children.»
Now I understood the significance.
«Two more Mitchell siblings,» Robert confirmed, scanning the letter again. «A brother and sister, both in their 40s now. Both sharing our rare blood type and genetic markers, according to medical records Joshua somehow obtained. And likely unaware of their connection to us.»
«Joshua found them but didn’t contact them, did he?» I surmised, the pieces falling into place. «He simply confirmed their existence and medical compatibility. In case… in case one of you ever needed what you’re asking of Jenna now.»
The irony was breathtaking. The Mitchell brothers had come to ask my daughter—the niece they had tried to manipulate and defraud—for potentially life-saving organ donation, while completely unknown siblings existed who might provide the same medical match.
«There’s more,» David said quietly, having taken the letter from Alan. «Joshua writes that he only discovered all this after his own diagnosis. He was already planning Maple Creek Farm for you, Catherine, but learning about these other siblings solidified his resolve to break completely from the Mitchell family legacy of secrets and manipulation. He writes that he wanted to create something honest and transparent to leave behind, something built on love rather than obligation.»
Tears pricked my eyes as I recognized my husband’s values in those words. Even from beyond the grave, he was teaching all of us about integrity and truth.
«So,» I said finally, «it seems you have alternatives to approaching my daughter. Two half-siblings who share your medical markers.»
«Strangers,» Robert protested weakly. «We don’t even know these people.»
«And whose fault is that?» I countered. «Your father chose to keep them secret. You and your brothers chose to treat Joshua as less worthy than yourselves. Now you face the consequences of those choices.»
Dr. Harmon cleared his throat again. «Forgive me, but from a medical perspective, any potential donor should be contacted quickly. Mr. Mitchell’s condition is deteriorating rapidly.»
I considered the man before me—Robert Mitchell, once powerful and intimidating, now diminished by illness and the collapse of his family mythology. Despite everything he had done, I couldn’t find satisfaction in his suffering. Joshua wouldn’t have wanted that.
«The contact information for your half-siblings,» I said. «Is it included in the letter?»
Robert nodded mutely.
«Then I suggest you begin there,» I told him. «Not with demands, but with humility and truth. Tell them who you are, explain your medical situation, and give them the choice that should be theirs to make. Just as such a choice would be Jenna’s alone—not mine, not yours—if you had approached her with honesty from the beginning.»
«And if they refuse?» Alan asked.
«Then Jenna can decide for herself if she wishes to be tested,» I replied. «But she’ll make that decision with complete knowledge of all facts and alternatives. No manipulation. No pressure. No lies.»
The Mitchell brothers absorbed this in silence, the family resemblance between them and my late husband suddenly more apparent in their chastened expressions. Joshua had had their same strong jawline, the same deep-set eyes—features I now noticed with new clarity.
«We’ll go,» Robert said finally, rising with effort from the sofa. «Thank you for this.» He gestured to the letter, which David carefully folded and returned to the envelope.
As Ellis showed them out, I remained seated, processing the unexpected revelation and its implications. Joshua had known he had other siblings, family members who might have welcomed him, who shared his biological heritage. Yet he had chosen to keep that knowledge in reserve, using it only as protection for Jenna and me after he was gone.
That evening, as snow fell gently outside the windows of Maple Creek Farm, I opened the laptop for the day’s video from Joshua. His familiar face appeared on the screen, recorded exactly a year ago in this very room.
«Hello, my love,» he began, his smile warming me across time. «If I’ve calculated correctly, today might be the day my brothers finally play their medical card. They’ve known about my condition for years. Our father made sure to inform them when I was first diagnosed as a teenager, though they never offered help then.»
I gasped softly, once again astonished by his foresight.
«If they’ve approached you or Jenna about donation compatibility, then you’ve given them the letter about our other siblings.» His expression grew thoughtful. «I considered contacting them myself many times over the years, but their lives were established, their family complete. I questioned my right to disrupt that with ancient history and biological connections that might mean nothing to them.»
He leaned closer to the camera. «The truth is, Cat, family isn’t about blood. It’s about choice. I chose you and Jenna as my family. I hope whoever Robert and the others approach will be allowed the same freedom of choice—to help or not, to connect or not, without manipulation or obligation.»
As the video continued, Joshua sharing his thoughts on family and legacy with characteristic thoughtfulness, I felt a sense of completion settling over me. The Mitchell brothers had come seeking to use Jenna as a means to an end, just as they had always used Joshua. Instead, they had been forced to confront the tangled web of secrets their father had woven and the consequences of their own choices.
Whether they would reach out to their newly discovered siblings with genuine openness or the same manipulative tactics they’d always employed remained to be seen. But that was no longer my concern, or Joshua’s, or Jenna’s. We had broken free of the toxic Mitchell family dynamics, claiming our own legacy through Maple Creek Farm and the life we were building here.
Joshua had transformed his childhood prison into my sanctuary, his painful past into my promising future. The forbidden farm had become hallowed ground indeed—not because of the oil beneath its soil or the financial security it provided, but because it represented Joshua’s final triumph over the family that had rejected him and the lasting love that had sustained him.
Spring would come again to Maple Creek Farm. The horses would run in green pastures. Oil would be carefully extracted from the western hills. And I would continue creating art in the studio my husband had designed. Jenna would visit when she could, perhaps bringing children of her own someday to ride horses and explore the land their grandfather had reclaimed.
And Joshua would remain present in the legacy he had so carefully crafted—not just in the daily videos that would eventually end, but in every corner of this place that reflected his love, his foresight, and his determination that the mistakes of the past would not dictate the shape of the future.
The forbidden had become the cherished. The secret had become the celebrated. And I, Catherine Mitchell, had become the caretaker of a legacy built not on obligation or blood, but on the purest foundation of all: love freely given and gratefully received.
«Until tomorrow, my love,» Joshua said, as the day’s video concluded.
«Until tomorrow,» I whispered back, knowing that while tomorrow would bring a new video, a new message from the past, it would also bring me one day closer to the future I was now creating—inspired by his example, but shaped by my own emerging strength.
The Maple Creek legacy continued—no longer forbidden, but forever transformed.
